You'll see.

“Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden, and an entire arena full of fans erupted into harmonic boos. Fans of the fWo weren’t fans of this man… that much was certain. He’d already made his presence known tonight by way of his interactions with Aimz but, nonetheless the fans weren’t impressed by him being there.

Why?

Because he was… and is, a fucking asshole. He’s the Immortal. He’s public enemy number one.

Kellen Kinkade.

"In my eyes, indisposed
In disguise as no one knows
Hides the face, lies the snake
The sun in my disgrace."

Those lyrics could not be more fitting, and at this moment in time the snake himself was bursting through the curtains with his gleaming, golden Immortal Title slung over his shoulder. A wry smile adorned his rugged features as he sauntered, almost mockingly, down the ramp… his microphone in his hand.

And the pyros launched, as he eyed the fans… stopping briefly to argue with a nearby fan, the hood of his coat draped over his face… holding a “Kinkade Fears Campbell” sign aloft. Kinkade eyed the man before flicking his microphone to his mouth, and tilting his head to one side…

“Excuse me,” he began, his smile changing to a look of perplexed curiosity… “So how much did Campbell pay you to hold up that atrocity? I knew that Asylum’s rating were plummeting but… holding up advertisements such as that surely won’t bring in ratings, as fWo fans… whilst I’m not an admirer of them are generally of a higher class.”

A sneer followed… and Kinkade turned around to continue on his way to the ring.

“Come back.”

A deep gravely voice ruptured Kinkade’s thought pattern, emulating from behind him and he turned to face its owner inquisitively. And there, his sign still held aloft, was the hooded man… his face shadowed and barely visible from beneath his garments. Kinkade raised and eyebrow slyly, and returned to him.

“What did you just say? You’re telling me… to come back? What is wrong with you people, are you masochistic… suicidal? Do you have a deathwish?” Kinkade mused into his microphone as the man nodded slightly.

“Kinkade… I do believe we haven’t met before but nonetheless. I’m a fan, I really am… I have all of your T-shirts…” the man began to say, in an amused tone.

“Really… you have good taste, my man.” Kellen smiled.

“Yes, it’s true… I have them all lined up, by my toilet. So that if I ever run out of bog roll, I can wipe a big, brown smile across your ugly, semi-pubescent-bum fluff-beard-having face.”

CHEERS!!

Kinkade stepped forwards… and tried to look under the hood, but the man jumped back slightly as if to shield himself.

“Oh no, no… Kellen, I fear that if you knew who I was you’d find yourself shitting your Calvin’s faster than you orgasm… which is pretty damn fast. However, I’m a nice guy, so I’ll give this audience full of cocksuckers a little hint. I’m the one-man wrecking ball sent by none other than God-him-fucking-self…”

A few of the fans began to clue in, as the man’s image was enlarged and blown up on the Travistron…

“God himself eh? About time he sent someone for a chat with me because frankly… I want my money back,” Kinkade chuckled, before allowing the man to continue.

“Ah-ah! Do not interrupt me… I am the one man abortion clinic… and I’m here to make you wish you’d never been born. Look up…” the man lowered one hand from his sign, and clasped the front of his hood with a gloved hand… “and look down, and see if you recognize me.”

Kinkade stepped backwards just in case, as the hood was lifted… and thrown backwards.

Black, scraggly hair. Stubble, unkempt… rough. Dirty. Mirrored eyes…

“Kellen Kinkade, this is a one way journey to hell. Squeeze your arsecheeks tight so that the demon cocks can’t get in… close your eyes so you can pretend I’m not real… but I’m here.”

“I… don’t know you…” Kade sighed, as he stepped backwards further. But it became apparent that a great deal… of the other people in the arena, DID know.

“Yeah… let me introduce myself…” the man started, as he jumped the railing. Security officers instantly rushed towards him, handcuffs readied, but a series of men in black suits darted over the rails armed with automatics… and instantly created a divide between the man, and the security. The man bowed.

“My name’s Sebastian Christopher. But… a lot of people call me…

“Scum.”

“No… you work for…” Kinkade began, as the fans cheered wildly… Scum smirked as he darted under a punch thrown by Kinkade, and lifted his seemingly cardboard sign into the air…

CRACK!!

Turned out it wasn’t cardboard afterall, as the paper tore from the sign to reveal hard metal plate. Kinkade stumbled backwards with a thin line of red atop his forehead, and Scum jabbed him in the stomach before slapping his face and spinning behind him, as the security and Scum’s bodyguards tussled…

“Nice meeting you. Seriously.”

Kinkade looked up… and Scum was gone. The fans were cheering insanely, erupting in laughter and praise… but why? Kellen’s eyes dashed back and forth and he saw a line trailing through the fans, of audience members knocked back and apart, thrown in all directions like an ambulance through traffic. Scum was running away… but again, Kinkade had to wonder why.

Then, he felt his shoulder… and it’s what he didn’t feel that scared him.

His Immortal Title.

He glanced back at Scum, with fury welling up in his single, glistening eye and his glass eye clenched in it’s socket… and hissed. Because his pride and joy, his celebrated Immortal Title belt, was being dragged through the audience in the clutches of the Violent Vagrant.

“MOTHERFUCKER!!” Kinkade screamed, as he leaped over the railings and began to smash the fans aside, wrenching through them towards the man clad in black… he could see the gold of his title glistening in the distance. Scum was ahead, but Kinkade was gaining on him out of sheer ferocity, his face reddening with insane anger…

“GET BACK HERE!”

He shoved another fan out of the way… but this one didn’t budge. Kinkade growled and struck him harder, with a closed fist… but he still didn’t so much as flinch, his massive frame taking the blow like a man. Kinkade suddenly left his rage… as the fans around him started to boo heavily.

“Well well, son… it seems that once again, we have found ourselves in a similar… daunting predicament as the week prior…”

Kade looked up, and saw the scarred, painted face… the scraggly, untamed red hair… the deadened, red eyes…

…of The Freak.

“You… you…” Kinkade snarled, as he drew back a fist…

*Click*.

“Don’t… move… a muscle.”

The fans around the pair were completely silent and devoid of movement, as a gun was levelled at Kade’s forehead… the sterling silver gleaming in the spotlights. The Freak slowly backed away from Kinkade, as the fire exit doors slammed shut… Scum had escaped into the darkness.

“This is the beginning… follow me,” The Freak said, tilting his head to one side… as he walked backwards, with Kinkade in tow, towards the door. The fans were silent, bustling slightly as that gun remained level, the Freak’s sword sheath protruding from his shoulder. He backed towards the door… leaving Kinkade a few yards away, and smiled, fakely.

“Would you ever dance in dragons of steel under the bloodied moon for something… that you hold dear?”

Through the fire exit, and outside. The Freak left the arena calmly, as an assassin would depart the scene of the crime… and after several moments.

“No… not that easily…”

Kinkade rushed towards the doors, and he followed.

“GIVE IT BACK!!” He roared into the night, throwing his head back as the fWo Fire exit doors slammed and banged behind him. He could hear the roar of the fans, the screams of their love and hate as the show continued long past. His boot-clad feet thudded against the concrete as his single blue eye darted across the night, before it locked on a target.

An SUV… black, it’s paint echoing a dull sheen through waves of light and reflecting from Kinkade’s hollow glass eye. He snarled aggressively, like an animal, and charged towards the vehicle uncaring for his own safety. His Nirvana ‘Bleach’ T-shirt was raggedy and battered but he was still in pristine shape… and charged towards the SUV like a cheetah, scrambling at it as the engine started to growl and toxic pollution began to pump out of the engine like a twisting inverted halo of grime.

"GET... THE FUCK... BACK!!" He roared, his boots kicking up dust and his heels grating, burning rubber against hard black tarmac. The SUV's side, a glistening black, was branded with a single decoration; the insignia of a skull...

But not just any skull, of course. It was branded with the Fuckhead logo. And as the SUV skidded narrowly past an incoming limo and tore out of the car park into the street, spinning and twisting acutely as it tore away in between cars... Kinkade knew that he'd been made a Fuckhead.

"No... no..."

Kinkade's fingers stroked his own shoulder, where his Immortal title had hung like a talisman only minutes ago. And now he was alone... that title wasn't just some championship, some declaration of superiority, it was his lifeline. The SUV ripped down the street, narrowly scraping past other vehicles almost drunkenly. Kinkade's glass eye, this time bearing the logo of the Black Hole Sun, swivelled in his socket in pusuit of the other... which locked onto a nearby limosine.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Kinkade had switched into automatic retrieval mode. The world around him turned a sickly, raging red as he walked calmly up to the limo, and tapped against the glass of the window pane.

The driver turned and looked up at Kinkade, through circular, dark lenses. His moustache was of a mocking similarity to that of the Flying Frenchie, but Kinkade wasn't going to unleash himself just yet... with a wry smile, holding his anger at the back of his throat and strapping it tight with tonsils, he winked at the driver.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of the car..." Kinkade repeated, slowly... this time through grated teeth, as the driver wound the window down.

"Heh... you're joking right?"

Kinkade sighed, and reached into the car, slamming the driver's head against the steering wheel and using his other hand to unlock the door from the inside-out. He swung the door open, and the unconscious body of the driver flopped out like cadaver onto the concrete. Kinkade replaced the driver in his seat, and twisted the keys in the ignition.

"You're not getting away from me that easily..." he sneered, as the engine kicked into gear and he pulled his way out of the car park...

Scum shouted extremely meanderingly as he swung the steering wheel in a twirling arc, whisking the wheels in an opposite direction. A cigarette was perched upon his bottom lip, wisps of smoke dancing like grey nymphs in the air before his face which was half concealed by his black strands of hair. Beside him, Fenn-Grail watched with a perplexed expression on his face. The Immortal Title was on his lap.

"I expected Kinkade to follow us, the young man appears not to be a quitter if he is, indeed, a coward. I was expecting his fear but not his utter abandonment of his cause..." he mused, looking down on the gold plates of the title. Scum shrugged, and reached under the dashboard for his bottle of whiskey... before downing another few gulps, searing his throat as it went down. The Freak noticed, and his red eyes grew wide... "Why are you drinking?"

"Eh, everyone knows that most road casualties are caused by drunken fucks driving big nasty cars at top speeds... now that I'm immune to the law, I thought that looked like fun so... fuck it, try something new every day, that's what my mother said. She followed her own advice too, must have known every sexual position known to man - and believe me, men knew her..."

"Wait." Freak interjected, as he glanced up into the rear-view mirror. "Look behind us."

Scum looked into his wing mirror. And there, in a limo with sweat and blood running down his brow as he steered violently between cars, was Kinkade. The limo, steel-plated and bulletproof, tore through the otehr cars on the road and flipped them as it collided...

"Oh... fuck, nancy-boy is following us. Fasten your seatbelt, motherafuckaa..."

Scum took another swig of whiskey and spluttered, then, with his eyes half-shut, swung the steering wheel around and spun the SUV out of control. Brian almost screamed instinctively as the mighty vehicle was turned 180 degrees to face the limo, as it tore forwards with the enraged Kinkade locked inside.

He braked.

"What are you doing?" Freak questioned worriedly...

Scum laughed, and pressed down hard on the accelerator, hurlting towards the limo with reckless abandon. The limo continued to plough forwards ferociously...

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

"He'll chicken... He'll *hic* chicken, you'll see..."

But as the SUV grew closer to the rampaging limousine, it became apparent... Kinkade wasn't going to chicken.

"Oh... fuck."

At the last moment, with a double-scream from both himself and Brian, the SUV was spun back around and they continued to drive away - as fast as possible.

Kinkade wasn't going to relent... he was going to follow them all the way home, and there was nothing they could do to stop him.

Joe Campbell guffawed, as he wiped his mouth clean with the sleeve of his shirt. He'd been in the mood for hotdogs all day, and just consumed his fifth one. Although, the amount of cheese in the last hotdog suddenly made him want to shave. Not literally, too. It's a Dumb & Dumber quote, which basically means to... bomb Iraq. Unload the C4s. Or to be crude - empty his bowels by excreting waste.

... Sickened yet? No? Fuck.

Lucinda Scott stood there, arms folded. She hated it when she wasn't taken seriously, and Joe's tone of voice was laden with sarcasm. He'd been bemused as to why neither Lucy nor Karen showed up last week, on the night when Villiam left... and Kinkade 'returned'. On the night where Kinkade crossed the path of The Freak, and surely, not for the last time. Fatts and Eddie Scott Poser, the two man-slaves of the Lucy/Karen tandem, didn't show up either.

Wanna know why? No? Fuck, just read on.

"Yes, I am. Is that so hard to believe?"

Joe laughed even louder now. The fact that Lucinda was keeping a straight face the whole while made it funnier for the degenerate owner. Normally, he didn't give a rat's ass if some of his employees didn't show up. But for all four of them not to turn up, when they regularly did, made is somewhat freaky. Alas, the explanation put the icing on the cake.

"You expect me to bloody believe that the bunch of you were on your way to the arena, when the taxi was suddenly hijacked by Poser in a Richard Nixon mask, who then proceeded to drive around the city like a farking madman, before crashing into a tree but not without he jumped out?! That's absolute bollocks! I mean, come on... I'm Joe fecking Campbell. If you want me to believe that...

You're gonna have to suck my dick. And with a mouth like yours, you'd sure convice me of your little story!"

Campbell sniggered again, as he crushed a piece of paper and threw it into the bin. Lucinda eyes widened in shock, and irritated, she just turned on her heels & left the office of her lewd employer. An excuse, it might have sounded, but Poser did indeed do that dastardly act... in a bid to buy himself some time. With Joe's words still burning her ears, Lucy walked down the halls of the arena, with a purpose. But she was conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to teach The King of Poland a lesson. On the other hand, Lucinda wanted to care for him, in a weird way.

What would she do? Ask Tim, the faggot.

... You read correctly.

Ever since he ended Tapestry's worthless life last week, after his "Mercy Killing" as he thought of it, people had started to take him a little more seriously... They also detested him all the more. Lucaselli was no longer the cocky idealist trying to force his views upon the Asylum, he now had the Asylum's blood on his hands.

"Cunt," he could hear muttered in his directions, concealed under the breath of he who spoke it, "Faggot."

Sticks and stones may break his bones, but words would never hurt him.

"Want to go the same way as Tapestry?" he cockily responded into thin air, making sure his detractors could hear him, "Or would you prefer the Hank Earl treatment? It's all the same to me."

This was bad.

Lucas had momentum, he had a taste for it. Nobody had given Lucas a chance when he said he'd clean the Asylum up, many thought he wouldn't even be breathing by now... Campbell was one of them... Why do you think he let it happen? But after last Sunday, they look upon him differently... Nick Lucaselli is now a "Threat" to their ways...

...Which can not be a good thing.

Nobody backstage would look him in the eye, that would be giving the disgraced Cop too much respect. Instead they looked away from him, watched him walk away from them... Hate in their eyes. Lucas knew they what they were doing behind his back.

Staring, planning, loathing.

"Your ways are coming to an end," Lucas announced as he stopped in front of the double doors. Everyone was now behind him, but he wouldn't give them the pleasure of turning to face his detractors, "Enjoy them while you can... But remember, I'll be there watching."

The suicide mission to clean up the Asylum had morphed into something all together more different, more dangerous... If Lucas had his way, the Asylum's ways would be eroded... It would be safe, sterile, uniform... That could never happen, could it?

"Clean yourselves up, boys and girls..... Or the Janitor'll be cleaning what's left of you up instead."

The doors swung behind Lucaselli to close off his words, as everyone he past just watched them fall still... Silent in their disgust.

Poser, who'd been creeping about silently in an attempt not to be noticed by anybody, fell down to the ground at the shriek belted out at him. Quickly picking himself up, the King Of Poland turned around and his eyes widened in shock.

It was Karen Pembridge. And she looked absolutely raging mad.

Poser knew why. It was because of him that the crew didn't make it to the building the previous week. The big Poser/Fatts fight was supposed to have taken place last week, but with his shenanigans, ESP ensured that he'd have an extra week to train. Or goof about, whichever he felt like. However, the extra week put a dent in Karen's plans... and thus, the better part of the week was spent further preparing McGarron for the fight of his life.

Truth be told, The British Lassie was sick of Fatts as she was of Poser.

The King Of Poland tried to dash off, knowing that he'd get the short end of the stick, but to no avail. Storming away, Karen kicked Eddie in the ribs and he slumped back down to the floor. He'd been in a recluse the whole week, hoping that neither Lucinda or Karen would find him.

Now, his luck ran out.

"You think you're bloody smart, doing what ye did, aye? Sodding hell, you messed up my plans this week! Tonight, there isn't going to be any escape, you bleeding twat!"

Yet another kick to the ribs, and Karen was out of there. She didn't want to waste any more time and energy on Poser than she had to. No, the girl from Manchester would rather Fatts do the honours, if he even could.

As for Eddie Scott Poser? He slowly pulled himself him and gritted his teeth, admist the coughing due to the kicks to the ribs. The King Of Poland was determined to prove a couple of things on the night.

And in the process, put Fatts McGarron out of a job.

"SHAT LEFTOVERS, I feel sick, BOLLOCKS IN JISM, I've always suffered from Travel Sickness" Wincy is foul mouthed, it's no medical condition either, she knows she's cursing, she believes it makes her adored by men. She calls it as 'Industrial Language' but really she's just a crude whore. Slapnutz is, as ever, getting on everyone elses nerves, TMM is being boring and Mr Pink is driving the bus. There is a nervous air in the bus, If it wasn't for Wincy's foul mouth we'd probably be in silence.

The never ending straight road still shows no sign of reaching it's end... The deafly silence on the bus doesn't make for the best entertainment so thank fuck for the fax machine which is just starting to talk.

"OH FUCK ME AND SLAP MY MUFF, A fax is coming through" shouts Slapnutz... not really, It's Wincy again. TMM walks over to the Fax machine, pushing Wincy out of the way "Oh it's from the Record People, wonder if it's them terminating your contract Slap?"

Slapnutz jumps up panicking before the penny drops, "What contract? You always told me there was no record contract, you used to pay for everything out of your savings and was taking a huge gamble on me because if I sucked then you might go bankrupt... that's why you never paid me or returned my expenses".

TMM rips the Fax from the machine and goes onto the retreat "No there is no contract, I was just kidding" He starts reading the Fax "Blah Blah Blah, Blah Blah Blah, We're pleased to announce that 'The Gypo Song' as recorded by Slapnutz has recorded a number 1 position in four countries and peaked at number 2 in the US charts... YES I'M RICH!!!" TMM jumps for joy, Slapnutz starts smiling and then joins in TMM's celebrations, also shouting "I'M RICH".

TMM calms down, "Yes Slap, you're rich but I've got to take my expenses out of the money".

Slapnutz pats TMM on the back "Yeah, of course you do, how much does that leave me with? Just the 6 million Scottish pounds!"

TMM reads all of the fax, whilst putting on a fake laugh, "Well not quite 6 million Slap. Actually you've not made that much money and... well.... there is no money for you, There isn't even enough for my expenses so I'll have to take it all, don't worry though, the next cheque will be yours... after i take expenses from it."

TMM creeps off with a huge smile on his face. Slapnutz picks up the Fax and Wincy Willis starts acting slutty 'because she's in the company of a rock star' "Oh BASTARD IS MY NAME, You're so sexy Slapnutz, I NEED A SHIT, Will you have my babies?". Slapnutz pushes Wincy away, throws the fax to the floor and goes for a shit. Wincy picks up the fax and follows him "TITS ARE LEAKING, Slappy, you're so sexy and apparently you're hung like a horse, did you know you got to number one in PENIS IS MY UNCLES NAME, Germany TWATS, Austria BENDERS, Hong Kong SLAPPER TOSS WANK and Tasmania... TIT"

"Yeah, that's fantastic" says Slap
"Yes it KISS SHIT is" replies Wincy, finally believing Slapnutz loves her - on the strength that he spoke to her without swearing or insulting her...
"I'm not talking about the fax you stupid whore... oh that's a grand shite, gonna take a picture of that... wow that stinks... sniff up Wincy". Wincy's head goes down, she drops the fax to the floor and walks away from the toilet door.

Dump of the day is over, Slapnutz gets out, still very proud of his shite, and picks up the Fax... "Oh Germany, Austria, Hong Kong and Tasmania. That's fantastic. Number 2 in the United States is good too, wonder who number 1 was... oh the ball feeling song by the Polish Power Tossman..."

The Sex Bus screeches to a halt and Mr Pink jumps out of his drivers seat and rips the Fax from Slap. "THAT got to number one!!!". Slapnutz rips the Fax back from Mr Pink, "Yes I could have sang that song couldn't I". Mr Pink taps Slapnutz on the side of his head "Yes, and it's also the song that stopped you from getting a number 1 in the US. Do you see?".

Slapnutz reads the Fax again, His face turning red... eventually he starts sobbing "Fucking Arse!".

"TIT COCK, That's my line!" screams Wincy.

Somehow, he got out of that alive, with no limbs missing. Just some blood loss, but that was always going to be the case. In any case, walking about in the arena tonight, Marinaroj was hoping to run into Karen. One way or another.

But it seemed as if the Gods weren't looking down on him. Watching Karen walk away from the vending machine, a can of Diet Coke in her hand, Taka sighed. Then looked down at his attire.

A white short-slevved t-shirt, black jeans, and black jeans. It wasn't the smartest of attire, but he didn't feel like donning fancy clothes or whatever. All he wanted was to feel comfortable. To feel at ease.

Turning around suddenly, Marinaroj was face-to-face with a man of amazing physique. He didn't look local either, and the smirk on his face suggested that he knew Taka. Very well.

"So, Mr Takahasi, everything's been set in motion. The plan would move along as discussed."

Takahasi sighed, before shaking his head. The plan, to ensure the The Big Picture wouldn't be compromised in any shape or form, was a very risky plan. It wasn't even comprehensible to most within The Patterson Agency but it was a directive passed down from the Senior Partners.

The man he was looking at was Drake Nefarian. A former boxer, who was now basically a hired killer. Ruthless, uncaring, and determined to always get his man. In this case, however... there was a girl at stake.

Someone close to Taka.

"Basically, we're hiring you as an assasin to assinate the assasin *I* got to kill the first assasin that was assinated many years back in the first place? Or is there something I'm missing?"

... Told you it was confusing. I didn't? Oh. Screw you, then. Drake stroked his bushy but well-kept goatee, trying to make heads or tails of what Marinaroj just said. Finally nodding his head, he smiled again and extended his hand out to the Japanese native. Takahasi snorted, and just tredged away, not liking the situation at all.

"I start work next week, by the way!" Nefarian called out to Taka, who paid no attention.

He was just... not interested. The idea that Karen Pembridge would have to be killed for him to attain redemption...

Didn't appeal to him. Not a single bit.

As he turned round, his shirt was clearly that of thReat’s “Vagabonds”, a team he was planning on controlling at Malevolence, whatever the cost. Vincent Pembridge apparently didn’t know who he was fucking with… and then there she was.

Karen Pembridge.

People had been speculating why she had saved him from Carnage a couple weeks back, and instead of answering questions this just raised a few more. Some mumbled words were heard as the door shut, and in true Smackdown: Just Bring It style, we are left none the wiser.

I wonder what they were talking about…

Tonight, Joe sat firm in his desk running a firm hand through his hair as he stared in space for a moment. Just as his hand went down to grab a beer, his door burst open. Joe calmly placed the beer down in disgust, counting slowly to ten trying to calm down, his eyes moved up from the desk and he saw who was standing in front of the desk… Eddie Cheno. Quickly Joe’s demeanor altered, and he put on a faux smile.

“Good to see you could make it Eddie, take a seat, why don’t you?” Eddie looked down at the chair he stood next to and then his eyes focused back on Campbell.

“Nah mang, I don’t be wantin ta stay long. What the funk, you want me Campbell?”

“The Television title.” Silence was formed between the two men, as neither could formulate an answer of how to decrease the long pause, finally Joe spoke up. “I know you’ve got the fucken thing stored away somewhere, I just want you to tell me, where you put it. That’s all. Nothing else, just give me the title, and I’ll make sure Carnage won’t go after you.”

“Wat? Funken shiznit! I ain’t be havin the title mang, dat be some shiznit, I don’t be doin mang.”

“All..” Joe signaled to Eddie to calm down, “All, I’m saying is you have to give me the title now. From what I’m hearing Carnage is after you, he’s saying you were the last person to leave his room.. And then suddenly the lights are out Eddie? Come on admit it? You enjoyed going back in their and twatting that fucker on the head?”

Cheno breathed heavily, as he eyed Joe, “Dis be funked up mang! Wat the funk? I dhink someone be setting me up..”

Joe coughed into his palm and looked back into Eddie’s face, calmly, “Eddie, I know. I know you have the fucken title, just give it to me.. It’ll all be over, I’ll give Carnage the title back, you’ll be back doing whatever you were doing, and I won’t have this taking the gem out of my fucken donut.”

Cheno wanted to pound his fist through Campbell’s desk, but he was disrupted as he saw Joe’s eyes focusing on something right over Cheno’s shoulder. As Eddie turned his head he saw Carnage there, obviously being there to hear Joe’s last statement. But instead of barging in the two stared at one another, and then finally Carnage walked past. Joe’s fingers played the top of his desk slowly.

“And he knows too.. So you better give me the title, now.”

Cheno couldn’t listen any longer, he walked out the room and on his own way.

Eddie Scott Poser Vs Fatts McGarron

This isn’t one of those fights.

“All You Can Eat” by Fat Boys played over the pa system, introducing man-slave number two in the Karen/Lucinda contingent.

No, they aren’t lesbians. No, they aren’t a couple. No, you can not see them naked for five dollars.

Fatts McGarron walked out from the backstage area to little fanfare. He had been in the Asylum for a couple months but had yet to really find his niche. He’d been a servant to the LoD, and now he was a servant elsewhere. Fans really liked people who were on their own, so this fight wasn’t exactly anything more than a bathroom break.

Fatts entered the cage, and rolled his shoulders. He tried to get himself ready for the fight of his life. Then again, if he’s the fight of your life, you really haven’t lived long.

“I Like Cold Beverages” by G Love and Special Sauce signaled the calling of Servant number 1, and no, this isn’t one of Susan’s characters. Eddie Scott Poser walked… er-excuse me, tricycled his way out from the backstage area, wearing a long kingly robe and a burger king crown on top of his head. He had ditched the X-Men garb and was now back to his old ways. And then the Tricycle tilted into a pothole in the concrete, sending Poser flying forward, face first into the Asylum cage wall.

His old ways indeed.

Poser crawled up from his crash, slowly taking himself into the Asylum cage. Once there, he shaked the cobwebs, and stared down his nemesis for the week, and his partner of sorts. Fatts looked ready, prepared, while Poser looked, well… anything but.

The bell rang and Fatts came out swinging. Poser ducked under the blow and immediately ran behind Fatts, but instead of attacking, he kept running all the way to the opposite cage wall. Fatts turned around, unpleased before charging again for a running clothesline, which Poser again ducked, and used to run to the other side once more. Fatts cracked his knuckles, doing his best Scorpion impression by yelling “Get over here!” before charging once more. Poser this time, was able to duck the blow and instead followed up with one of his own.

A Back Rake.

Fatts turned around, unamused. Poser stood there confused as to how the maneuver didn’t floor Fatts immediately, as it had done in pro-wrestling for years before people began hitting triple con-son-hilos with a twist or whatever these crazy kids do these days. Fatts growled, and Poser hit him with an eye poke which actually worked. Fatts fell over, bent from his waist, clutching at his eyes, before swinging in a eyeless rage. His right hook missed completely, but his left hook connected with Poser’s jaw, sending him rocketing to the canvas fast. Poser looked up from his fallen position with puppy dog eyes, and whimpered a small bit before dodging a boot that Fatts had tried to stamp into his midsection.

Poser got to his feet somewhat quickly, and decided that now was the time to try his finisher move, I Just Stole Your Finisher, which was actually Fatts. But first, he’d need to steal his signature move. So Poser ran toward the recovering Fatts with all his might, and then jutted out his skinny frame for a belly bounce.

Which send him rocketing down to the mat in a hurry. Let’s just say that Poser never was the most muscular or fatty guy in the land, and Fatts had enough weight on him to send him down to the canvas by not moving.

Fatts smiled, realizing he might win by stupidity.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

Poser got back to his feet, not realizing what had happened. Fatts was quick on the attack, looking for a right hook that was dogged. Shortly after, Poser dodged another left jab, which landed him on his ass. He backed away, desperately trying to call a time out before Fatts lifted him to his feet by his hair.

And once there, Poser kicked him in the crown jewels.

Fatts once again fell to his knees, and this is when Poser called out to the world, “CLOTHESLINE! FROM HELL~!” before superkicking Fatts square in the jaw.

Yes, he has a move called the Clothesline which is actually a kick. Deal with it.

Poser raised his hands in victory, and did his finest Dance from Dance Dance Revolution.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

6…

7…

Fatts recovered to his feet, and saw the dancing servant before him. Poser realized that the count stopped, and turned his gaze to Fatts in mid-dance. He stopped, and mouthed the word “Uh-oh,” if that’s considered a word, before Fatts charged forward, hitting him with the Belly Bounce. With Poser down, Fatts stood overtop his head, and prepared for the KO.

Fatts fell with the Cavity Search.

And hit nothing.

Poser slid out from underneath, and stared toward his opponent before him with shocked eyes. Realizing he could have been flattened, he had an epiphany. He spat toward the fallen Fatts, and instead of picking up what may have been a sure victory, Poser leapt over the cage wall, and exited through the crowd.

Fatts had won… but it was tainted…

And Karen/Lucy would be anything but pleased.

Or, at the very least, add a little bit more to it.

Sighing under his breath, he carefully removed the long black dress coat he had worn upon arriving. With it went the long silver finger ring, which he slid carefully into one of the interior pockets of the coat. After hanging the coat by one of the hooks in the locker, he grabbed the outfit and tossed it onto the nearest bench. As he unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, he stared at the outfit.

It might not be so bad, if it was not so transparent. Fine silver mesh that looked like metal but wasn’t was the base for the shirt, a mesh so fine that it wouldn’t help but show his pale skin beneath it. Thankfully, he noted that the portion of the shirt that would cover his left pectoral and arm had a dull black cloth beneath it, one that could cover the scars that covered that side of his body. Beyond that, it covered very little at all.

He glared again at the forsaken shirt that he was supposed to wear. It looked more like something out of a bondage flick than something one should wear to fight, especially with the steel buckles that adorned several portions of the left side of the shirt.

Glancing around, he noticed that no one was in the small locker room, and he quickly tugged the dress shirt off over his head. He followed quickly, grabbing the silver-mesh monstrosity of a shirt and pulled it on as well. As he pulled it over his head, he had the time to see both cHEESE and egg NOG walk in. He swiftly finished up, pulling the shirt over, the scars comfortably hidded.

The two cast a glance at Gavriel where he stood changing, his face a calm mask but the seething disgust with the outfit he was forced to wear just beneath it. Noticing Gavriel grumbling to himself, egg NOG grinned and turned to cHEESE.

“Looks sexy, doesn’t he?”

“Yup,” cHEESE said, nodding. “Very much. Although not sure if he’s dressed to fight or do something else.”

Gavriel cast the two a glare as he slipped his pants down.

“See, he’s even undressing for us!” egg NOG said.

Now down to his boxers, Gavriel glared over his shoulder at egg NOG. “I am pleased that you find this amusing. I find it less so,” he said, calmly, struggling to mask his embarrassment.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s undressing for us, as egg said!” cHEESE chimed, earning himself a glare from Gavriel.

“If you will excuse me,” Gavriel said, alternating his glare between the two of them, as he tugged on the other pair of pants. With everything finally in place except his fractured dignity, he stalked past the two men, shouldering his way between them. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“Bye, cupcake,” egg NOG replied. Gavriel didn’t turn or acknowledge that he’d spoken.

Even as he walked away, he heard in the distance egg NOG’s voice. “Yeah, he was definitely stripping for us.”

Legion of Dairy© Vs Splink
(Team Titles)

But you had to feel that the LoD had the upper hand. Their mind-games with both member of Splink had caused TMM to start turning grey with stress. Add to that, the fact that Slapnutz had become engrossed in the world of being a famous pop star the champs were clearly favourites. Plus, they HAD defended their titles against decent opposition, being capable fighters wasn’t the issue.

Splink, on the other hand, have had a hard time since coming from the Fighting Zone. They had been looked over on several occasions. Other, newer teams were getting title shots and certain people were acting as a glass ceiling. Add to the fact that their level of suck-ness was at an all time high and they find themselves with a problem on their hands.

Also, TMM had become obsessed with money. There was talk of him having his teeth capped with coal, but that was merely speculation in the Daily Telegraph. Plus his gypo entourage had slowly increased over the weeks, and they cost a lot of money. Old kitchen sinks don’t come THAT cheap y’know.

Slapnutz, meanwhile, had decided he loved the high-life. Old women in the street would pester him and small children would come up to him asking for his autograph. Women were still scared of him, and rightly so. But, he didn’t mind this; he loved the attention and singing on national television. In fact, the Daily Sport wrote an article on him. It revealed a lot, including how he parked a motorbike in Loch Ness and they rode to shore on the Loch Ness monster.

But, enough of a back story, it was time to fight.

Splink came out to the sound of the Jam. ‘Going Underground’ was their song, but the real truth was, they were going mainstream. TMM was being booed for being a cunt whilst Slapnutz was being cheered for recording a hit single. The mixed reaction was nothing new for Splink, no one knew how to take them. A lot of people thought they sucked, whilst others thought they were great fighters with the attitude of small children. Then there were the gypos. The gypos in the crowd this evening had started a ‘Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ style band. One of them had a skiffle board, another had a ukulele, one was playing the spoons and another was singing. Luckily, the crowd was that loud, that their sound could not be heard.

Slapnutz acknowledged the fans as he made his way to the cage. He took a ‘SLPNTZ RLZ’ sign and shoved it in the face of a young boy with a ‘Slapnutz is a Scottish Twat’ sign. Naturally, the young boy started to cry and his father was about to start making a scene. However, TMM quickly sorted this out by punching the father of the boy in the face and continuing his walk to the ring. Somewhere, Joe Campbell knew he would have yet another law suit on his hands.

As Splink entered the cage, ‘Sell-out’ by Biohazard played and out came the Asylum Team Champions. egg NOG and cHEESE, the Legion of Dairy, came out to a deafening roar. But, the roar wasn’t the type they expected. Far from it. The fans, THEIR fans, were actually booing legion of Dairy. The only team that had been worth cheering in the Asylum for such a long time, were now the victims of abuse from the crowd.
A chant of ‘sell-outs’ began to take over the arena, and for once, TMM wasn’t the most hated man in the arena. Yes, TMM was still being spat at, but he wasn’t being called a ‘wrestling cunt’ and a ‘cunt with legs’. But, due to the fact that the majority of the people using the word ‘cunt’ were travelling folk, it didn’t matter much.

After some dodging of missiles thrown by fans, a few choice words with each other, a quick game of ‘slaps’ and a scratch of the arse later, LoD entered the cage. Directly after that, the timekeeper signalled the start of the match and hell was ready to break loose.

There was no circling each other and getting a feel for the ring, oh no, Splink had waited a long time for this and both members went in with fists flying. egg NOG and cHEESE were caught off guard and were sent staggering backwards. The crowd let out a massive roar. First blood to Splink.

Unfortunately, Slapnutz decided to pose for the crowd and TMM decided to taunt them. I mean, he WAS the heel of the team. He needed to get some of his heat back. LoD shook off the punches from their counterparts and attacked Splink with a venomous rage. cHEESE grabbed Slapnutz, egg NOG grabbed TMM and both men rammed the faces of their opponents into the rim of the cage. Normally, the crowd would cheer when TMM was getting his arse handed to him, but now, he was getting his arse handed to him by two…wrestlers. Make no mistakes about it, Legion of Dairy were wrestlers again. They turned their back on fighting just so they could more money and more women and the crowd hated them for it. Every time a ‘Splink-head’ hit the rim of the cage, another, almost poetic word was spat out by the crowd.

‘Fags’…’Pillow-biters’…’cock-cHEESE’…’shirt lifters’…’shit stirrers’ etc.

After a few minutes of this, the Legion of Dairy got bored. There was some fun to be had crushing the skulls of Splink, but, at the end of the day, they wanted the crowd on their side. It was time to bust out the fancy moves.

cHEESE picked up TMM and hit him with a snap suplex into the side of the cage. egg NOG, at the same time, picked Slapnutz up and gave him a stalling brainbuster. Both members of LoD got to their feet expecting a round of applause, all they got was an ear bashing for using wrestling moves in the hallowed cage known as the Asylum.

By now, those ‘dairy men’ were pissed off. They flipped the crowd off and motioned for the referee to make the count. Fearing he would get a hip-toss or a snapmare, the referee complied.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

Of course, Splink were not going to be this easy to take down. But, both members were sporting crimson masks. TMM and Slapnutz got to their feet, spat blood on the floor of the cage and held a mini-Splink conference.

“Right, we should really kick the shit out of them now, Slutnutz,” TMM said, spitting blood as he did.

“Really? I was going to let them hurt us some more, hulk up and then win by jumping up and crushing their throat with my leg. Twat,” Slapnutz shouted.

TMM turned round and was met with a punch to the face from egg NOG, however, instead of going down and rolling about in pain, TMM shrugged it off and headbutted his opponent. Slapnutz, following the leader headbutted an on-coming cHEESE. Back to square one now.

TMM grappled with egg NOG, both men trying to get the upper hand. Unfortunately for NOG, TMM launched him into the mesh of the cage and unleashed a flurry of right hands into his ribs and face. egg NOG tried to cover up, but the punches being thrown by his Polish opponent were unstoppable. egg NOG slumped onto the floor of the cage and watched on in horror as TMM kicked him in the face.

Don’t let it be said that Splink were not fancy. These guys kicked you in the face with style.

Speaking of being kicked in the face, this was exactly what was happening to Slapnutz. The Scottish crooner was being taught a lesson in Tai-Bo from cHEESE. One thinks cHEESE got one of those home-lesson videos for his birthday. But, whatever the reason for these skills, cHEESE was kicking some arse. This upper hand was short lived as TMM came charging in, driving a knee into the side of his counterpart. cHEESE crashed into the cage and tried to grab Slapnutz as he went. But, Slapnutz still had some bearings and side stepped the falling cHEESE. Both members of Splink put the boots into their opponent before turning their attentions back to egg NOG.

egg NOG wasn’t hard to find, he was pulling himself up the cage wall. He got to his feet, regained his composure and motioned for Splink to bring it. The Pole and the Scots gladly obliged and walked over to the man. Slapnutz looked at TMM, TMM looked at Slapnutz, both men looked at egg NOG and were then poked in the eyes. Slapnutz stumbled back and egg NOG shoved him onto the ground. TMM, stumbled around slightly and was then picked up onto the shoulders of egg NOG and driven down to the mat hard.

Slapnutz was quick back up to his feet and was met by a recovering cHEESE and a somewhat fresh egg NOG. Both members of LoD charged their Scottish opponent and sandwiched him in a double cross body block.

Slapnutz being Slapnutz, collapsed to the mat before the LoD hit him. Therefore, cHEESE flew into egg NOG, egg NOT flew into cHEESE and all four men were collapsed in a heap on the floor. The referee started to make a count. It was looking like there would be no winner. This would mean the ‘Survivors’ would retain, Splink would still suck and the world would be a better place.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

“Fuck,” were the only words coming from the mouths of the men on the floor. Each one was clutching their head and showed no signs of getting up.

6…

7…

TMM crawled around on the floor, blood was dripping into his eyes. He knew the titles were slipping away so it called for desperate measures.

8…

The Pole crawled into the vicinity of the referee and looked up. He then launched a stream of bile and blood into his eyes. The count had been stopped as the referee tried to regain his composure.

This had given Splink the time they needed. But, it had also given the Legion of Dairy time to get onto their feet too.

egg NOG was first up, joined by TMM, then cHEESE and finally Slapnutz. Before the Scot could even get to his feet, firsts were flying as were boots as both teams fought to gain advantage. Easier said than done. Slapnutz threw cHEESE into the cage. TMM was dropped onto the mat with a DDT from egg NOG. Slapnutz tried to kick egg NOG in the balls but his attempt was sidestepped. egg NOG went to elbow Slapnutz in the back of the head but he was stopped by TMM. cHEESE came back into the battle with a clothesline to Slapnutz. Slapnutz turned round and drove his knee into the gut of egg NOG. TMM threw a punch in the direction of cHEESE, which was blocked and countered with a headbutt to the Pole.

Can anyone say ‘clusterfuck’?

All four men exchanged blows in the middle of the cage. Punches were followed by kicks then followed by bites and scratches. There was nothing technical about the fighting.

TMM punched cHEESE but cHEESE was quick to recover. He wound up and with all his might, unleashed a devastating right hand to the face of his Polish opponent. Well, that’s what was supposed to happen.

TMM ducked the punch and cHEESE caught egg NOG in the face with the most lethal punch he had thrown in his life. Slapnutz, being the opportunist, planted the falling egg NOG onto the mat with a deadweight DDT. The crowd popped at this. Their ‘Asylum Idol’ had hurt the traitor bad and that was worth cheering him for.

TMM grinned at cHEESE. The ‘sell-out’ was all alone as his partner didn’t seem to want to get up. Of course, it only took two seconds for TMM and Slapnutz to grab him so it really wasn’t the fault of egg NOG. cHEESE struggled but to no avail. Splink had him in their grasp. Slapnutz had the left arm and leg, TMM had charge of the opposite side. Then, the singing began:

A leg and a wing…
To see the king…
One…
Two…
Three…

A last-gasp lunge from egg NOG was no good as cHEESE soared over the rim of the cage and out onto the floor. egg NOG got up, shouting at Splink before he too was disposed of over the rim. The sheer frustration he was feeling allowed Splink to make easy-pickings of him.

Legion of Dairy were on the outside looking in. Looking in at the new Team Champions. Weren’t they?

…

…

…

…

“I’m sorry, boys,” said the voice of Wincy Willis, as she walked out onto the stage, “but it appears as though you can’t win this match by ring-out. But, I do like to sniff the farts of other people. I’m dirty, am I not?”

“It clearly states, in the contract that egg NOG pinned on my forehead that you can only win this match if you knock out both member of the Legion of Dairy. They, however, can win by ring-out, submission, knockout and death.

Splink looked on in horror at this announcement. Seriously, who enjoys the smells of other people’s farts? She was indeed a dirty slag. Oh yeah, there was the matter of them not being the team champions as well and I’m sure they were pissed off by that as well.

“So, without further ado, I’m sweatier than a nun’s cunt so I’m backstage to check out my arse in a mirror.” With those disturbing words, Wincy Willis went backstage and Legion of Dairy started to dance outside the cage, much to the annoyance of the crowd.

Bottles started to rain down on the Survivor’ contestants and as strange as it seemed, the only sanctuary they could find from the onslaught of the fans, was the cage itself. Both men climbed back into the cage and continued their bout with Splink.

Actually, I say climbed in, they actually jumped in.

Oh yeah, also, when I said continued their bout with Splink. What I actually meant was they took both members out with suicide dives.

There, makes much more sense now.

cHEESE and egg NOG got to their feet and dusted themselves down. Both men picked up Slapnutz and planted him on the ground with a double powerbomb. This wasn’t just sore for Slutnutz, but it also sucked as he was being beaten by a wrestling move.

TMM had started getting to his feet but he was hit with a stiff kick to the jaw and ended up on all fours for his trouble. egg NOG picked TMM up and held him so that cHEESE could drive his elbow into the jaw of the Pole. TMM sagged in the arms of egg NOG but he wasn’t allowed a moment to rest and cHEESE kicked him in the shins and the poked him in the eye.

The Legion of Dairy turned to the crowd, who were now threatening actual bodily harm to them, and gestured that they were about to finish TMM off. Sellout. One word that would end this bout. egg NOG hooked TMM from one side, cHEESE done the same on the opposite side and then…

…

…

drove TMM to the ground with an almost perfect version of their finisher. The only reason it wasn’t perfect is that Slapnutz had dragged TMM out of the way at the last moment and the Legion of Dairy beat the shit out of a load of fresh air.

TMM and Slapnutz were groggy but they managed to get to their feet just in time to see Legion of Dairy kick them both in the face. Slapnutz was battered and bruised. TMM looked like a female fan had menstruated on his face. Not the nicest sight but these men were fighters. cHEESE drove his knee into the face of Slapnutz and watched his Scottish opponent fall into the wall of the cage. But, Slapnutz didn’t go down. No, he ‘stood’ his ground and received another punch to the face just for looking at cHEESE the wrong way.

Meanwhile, the roles had been reversed and TMM was beating egg NOG down. He grabbed the legs of the NOGster, forcing him to the mat and then stamped on his groin. If egg NOG had wanted some hand relief at the moment in time, he wouldn’t be able to feel anything. Sucks, doesn’t it?

Slapnutz was in a precarious position, cHEESE had been kicking him all around the cage without any remorse, but the Scots wouldn’t go down. Unfortunately for him, cHEESE wasn’t planning on putting him down for a ten count. No, cHEESE picked Slapnutz up and tossed him out of the cage.

Normally this would have won the match for the LoD but that wasn’t the case under the Wincy-Willis rules. Not that it would have made much difference. You see, as Slapnutz landed on his arse outside the cage, egg NOG was doing the same thing on the other side. Not a good time for it to happen really.

So, it left cHEESE and TMM left in the ring. More capitalization than you can shake a somewhat large stick at. Especially if this stick was covered in dog shite.

TMM faced off with cHEESE. Both men trying to get the advantage. TMM struck first, he lashed out at the shins of cHEESE with a vicious kick. This kick sent cHEESE staggering back and it gave TMM the opportunity to slam him hard onto the ground. The Pole then followed it up with a headbutt to the mid-section. cHEESE was in pain but TMM wasn’t faring much better. The blood continued to trickle down his face like small pellets of rain coming from the heavens. This didn’t stop him from unloading on cHEESE. TMM wanted the belts. He wanted them badly.

cHEESE lay in the foetal position until TMM picked him up to deliver more punishment on him. But this position didn’t tell the full story. cHEESE surprised TMM by giving him a stiff lariat as he got onto his feet and then suplexed him over his head and into the wall of the cage. The remaining member of the LoD slammed TMM’s head hard into the wall and then threw him into the middle of the cage.

TMM knew his time was almost up and cHEESE strode over to him. In fact, that was the last thought going through his head as cHEESE hit him with an urnage suplex, commonly known as the Rock-Bottom or the Sellout if egg NOG had been present. This time, TMM lay out of it on the ground and egg NOG and Slapnutz were battling outside, both men showing no signs of wanting to get back into the cage. The referee started the slowest count of the evening for cHEESE:

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

6…

7…

TMM stirred as cHEESE looked on in disgust. The crowd were getting behind TMM now and this was a new feeling for him.

8…

TMM grimaced and tried to get up but he was so tired. The energy used in this gruelling battle was long gone and he was running on pure adrenaline now.

9…

The crowd became more intense and a ‘TMM’ chant broke out around the arena. He was motivated but had it come too late?

…

…

10?

No chance. TMM struggled to his feet and blocked the punch from cHEESE. cHEESE tried again but TMM countered with a punch of his own. TMM hit cHEESE with a knee to the ribs and then kicked him in the balls. Then, in a moment that hadn’t been seen for some time, TMM placed cHEESE between his legs and planted him with a Polish Culture Piledriver.

Actually, he did it three times, just to be on the safe side. As the head of cHEESE bounced off the floor for the third time, the crowd went wild. It was probably at the sight of seeing cHEESE getting his arse handed to him more than they actually like TMM but that was beside the point. The referee started his count:

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

The fans had started a ‘LoD sucks’ chant, much to the delight of TMM. He beckoned for the fans to get louder. They didn’t, obviously, but TMM didn’t seem to mind as he was more concerned with the cuts and bruises on his face. Oh and the count the referee was making.

6…

7…

8…

egg NOG tried to get back into the cage but Slapnutz held him back.

9…

cHEESE began to stir but had it been too late?

10…?

New team champions. The referee finished his 10 count and Splink were declared the winners. The titles had a new home and the S-Express was going to be noisy tonight.

Legion of Dairy looked dejected as cHEESE got to his feet and egg NOG joined him inside the cage. Splink, however, were going to party like it was 1999. This was their night and nothing was going to spoil it. Not even Wincy Willis in a mini-skirt.

"Well yeah." His boss replied as he typed away furiously on his computer.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Dez asked.

Joe frowned.

"Listen mate, do I pay you to ask questions? No. I pay you to sit there and keep an eye on the door, so please... sit there and keep an eye on the door." Joe snapped back.

"Heh... time of the month is it?" Dez said back, cracking a smile.

"As a matter of fact it is yeah, it's that time of the month where I sit here and evaluate just where all of my money goes... interesting really what you discover when you have a careful look at what people are up to." Joe replied, the scowl still being worn.

"I hear ya." Dez began "Might want to toss that Elixir guy's contract in the trash, he was a waste of time... the gay guys too, they've got to go."

"Gone, gone and gone." Joe answered back "And interestingly enough they aren't the only ones wasting my time, seems that even my closest associates are taking the piss out of me too."

"Meaning?" Dez asked bluntly.

"Meaning there are some people around here that are being paid for nothing, and contrary to what most bosses usually say... yes... I am pointing the finger at you."

Dez raised an eyebrow and answered simple with "Is that so?"

"Well look at it from my point of view Dez, you haven't had a fucking match in months... you haven't killed a fucking problem in months, for fucks sake... all you do is drive me around and drink my fucking beer, we don't even have any trouble around here for you to deal with."

Dez put down his beer and stood up.

"The lack of trouble should probably be enough for you to know that I'm doing me job pretty damned fine."

Joe shook his head.

"Nah." Joe replied "A proper bodyguard jumps in the way of bullets and shit... you don't justify your being here mate, since you bumped off the missus you've done nowt but sit on your arse, which is why I'm selling you on ebay."

Dez smirked.

"Ebay? Right."

"Yeah fucking right." Joe said with a nod as he continued to type "I'll get a pretty penny for you... only problem right now is that I'm not sure which section to put you under. Personal security or you're more recent job... furniture."

Dez paced behind Joe and stared at the screen, he thought it was a joke until he saw his name, a picture and a price.

"Take it down." He said sternly, the expression on his face suddenly becoming far more serious.

"Nah... I'll leave it on, thanks all the same... maybe you can prove to me that there's a good reason for me to pay your wages over the next couple of weeks, failing that... I'll be bringing in my new guy as soon as someone has paid for you."

Joe rubbed his hands together and looked at the screen.

"Hope you have a warm jacket, highest bid right now is a guy in Russia."

"You f-"

Joe quickly reached into his desk and placed his hand firmly on the pistol within.

"Might want to go sit down and finish that beer." Joe growled "Nothing for you over here than a few small pieces of rather unpleasant lead."

Dez contemplated a move, but then thought better of it and moved back over to his corner of the room.

"Fine by me chief." Dez added "Just a word of advice, stay over in your side over the room... couple more beers and there probably won't be anything over here for you other than a pair of unpleasant fists."

"Whatever." Joe replied "Now then... time to email a few of these applicants, if the current motley crew can't entertain me I'll bring in a couple of new guys and make some entertainment the old fashioned way.

A bit of hate here, a bit of hate there... perfect recipe." The Asylum owner said to himself with a smile as the Show went elsewhere.

Sebastian Thompson Vs Null-State

While he stood in the ring, a dark, deep sound came from the PA system, the low moan of an organ. As the deep, rhythmic beat of A Fire Inside’s “Miseria Cantare- The Beginning” began, a new figure, one to which the crowd didn’t know how to react, stepped out. Larger than Thompson, both in build and height, he stood somewhat menacingly at the entrance. A thick lock of pure black hair, standing out in sharp contrast to the rest of his platinum blond hair, cascaded across his left eye.

“Love. Your hate. Your faith. Lost.” As the words screamed out from the PA system, he began to walk arrogantly down the metal path, his eyes all on the man who stood in the center of the cage. The only thing that showed his acknowledgement of the crowd was a momentary flash of disgust that crossed his stern face.

The two stood for frozen moments, spaced across the battleground of the cage, before the stillness was broken as Sebastian threw himself at Null-State, charging him hard. Null-State barely had time to mount a defensive before Sebastian was on him, a quick one-two shot of his fists slamming into Null-States body, one onto the right side of his chest, the other a hard shot to the left side of his face.

The hair cascaded to the side, revealing a twisted mass of scar tissue that stretched across his cheek and down his neck. Sebastian stared, momentarily shocked, and it gave Null-State the time to mount an offensive. He returned Sebastian’s favor, two hard shots from his fists slamming into the others body, driving him backwards.

He moved forward as Sebastian stepped back, another two quick jabs slamming into Thompsons body. As he tried to follow it up with yet another shot, his luck ran out, and Sebastian grasped the extended arm, wrenching it hard back. He fell, trying to break Null-States arm in the process, and the two twisted like snakes on the mat. Null-States face slammed into the mat, and he struggled against the painful hold on his arm. The two writhed, one in pain, the other struggling to keep applying the pain, and two lucky shots from Null-States free arm succeeded in freeing his arm before it was snapped.

Null-State rolled over, pinning Sebastians body to the hard ground, and slammed two quick shots into his face before Sebastian succeeded in forcing the larger man off of him. The two hurriedly got to their feet, staring warily at one another. The sounds of the crowd were gone for the two now as they faced off, a pair of lions trapped in a cage.

Again it was Sebastian who took the offense, slamming his fist hard into Null-States chest. As his opponent stumbled, Sebastian grabbed Null-State’s arm he had hurt earlier and wrenched it forward, following with a vicious heart punch. Gasping in pain, and struggling to bring air into his lungs, Null-State didn’t even have enough time to mount even a token resistance as Sebastian’s foot connected with his side. He stumbled to the side, and Sebastian, refusing to give up his momentum, quickly grabbed Null-State in a full-nelson.

Within moments Sebastian had the larger man off his feet, and mere seconds later he was back down, slammed hard into the mat. Sensing that he was losing, Null-State fought back frantically. His boot caught the other man on the shin, bringing a grimace to Sebastian’s face. Moving quickly as to avoid allowing Sebastian to further capitalize on his trend, Null-State scrambled to his feet. His placid features with twisted with frustration and rage as he charged Sebastian blindly.

Before he knew what was happening, Sebastian was slammed in the gut with a shoulder tackle. Using his larger frame to his advantage, Null-State lifted the stunned man off his feet in a fireman’s carry. He charged forward, slamming Sebastian’s back into the edge of the cage, drawing a stifled scream from Sebastian. Throwing him down, Sebastian landed hard on the mat on his back, the wind driven from his lungs from the force of the blow.

More confident now, Null-State stalked forward, fluid and quick. This time it was Sebastian who clambered to his feet. Sebastian struck out, but Null-State easily saw it coming, as Sebastian was still slightly stunned from slamming into the ground. Sliding to the side, he grasped Sebastian’s fist in his hand and wrenched the other man forward. As Sebastian lurched forward, Null-State slammed his head forward, his forehead striking Sebastian right between the eyes.

Null-State drove forward with his fist, but either he was too slow or Sebastian too fast, because Thompson ducked the shot. Sebastian slid forward, under Null-States guard, and before Null-State could react, grasped Null-States head and jerked downwards, dropping to his knees. Null-States chin struck the top of Sebastian’s head with an audible crack.

Null-State stumbled to his knees and so did Sebastian, both of them stunned. The two struggled to their feet, glaring at one another through the haze of fury. Long moments passed and, soon enough, they were both up. Sebastian took the initiative, driving forward with a hard fist, connecting a solid shot to Null-States ribs. As he tried to follow it up with a wide hook, Null-State weaved under the shot fluidly.

Before Sebastian had a chance to react, he was doubled over as Null-State drove the point of his boot into his stomach. Gasping for breath, Sebastian fell, hard to his knees as a second hard kick slammed the hell of Null-States boot into the back of his head.

Moving fast, with a certain liquid grace, Null-State spun, delivering a sharp round-house straight between his opponents eyes. Where his forehead shot had failed, his boot succeeded, and Sebastian toppled to the ground as his eyes rolled up.

Lucinda Scott ran out into the parking lot, just in time to see Eddie get into a beat-up blue Nissan, which looked older than George W Bush's nosehair. He turned to look at Lucy, and at Karen who was right behind Lucy. A smirk was on the Lassie's face, glad at the fact that Poser was leaving.

For good, it seemed.

"I'm so out of here. I just can't handle this anymore, dammit! Plus, Buffy's ended... so there's no reason for me to stay!" Eddie screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was looking mighty depressed, following his epiphany, and realised a couple of very important things.

And with that parting pleasantry out of the way, the King Of Poland jumped into the car, speeding off almost immediately. Lucinda watched on, somewhat dejected that the first person she'd made contact with in the Asylum was gone. Forever. Karen, on the other hand, was bemused. Poser had taken the easy way out. With what he did last week, with the way he lost himself a job earlier in the night, and with him swearing that he wasn't going to remain in tA any longer.

He hadn't done much anyways, the girl from Manchester thought.

Turning around, Lucy was solemn, before thinly smiling at Karen. They realised that ESP would no longer be in their faces, no matter how much Lucinda actually liked having his company. But her purpose wasn't to have company. It was... to build an army. And that meant only the strongest survived. In this case, Fatts McGarron had triumped to bind himself to the two ladies he'd began working with just a few weeks ago.

But as Fatts stood behind the doors that led to the parking lot, looking at Karen & Lucy who were now conversing, he felt unfulfilled. Sure, he had managed to win his first fight in the company on the night. He had defeated Eddie Scott Poser, and secured himself a position as the one & only servant to the Karen/Lucinda tandem. There wouldn't be any delegation of tasks, he would be the one doing the dirty work that would ensure Lucinda's plan saw the day of light. But the way victory was achieved...

Made it seem as if he was better off losing.

It was a night of defining moments. For Karen Pembridge and ol' Lucy, a new slew of tactics would have to be enforced. They too didn't really take too kindly the way the Poser/Fatts battle ended, but at least it got something resolved. Now, came the tricky part.

Next on the agenda was dealing with Mercy. One way, or another.

Ty Hughes Vs Lucas

“4 Alarm Blaze”. M.O.P.

The crowd cheered, pretty nonsensically, since they had no idea who was coming down the aisle, but everyone loves a change in theme music… apparently. The misplaced cheers, turned to ones of genuine emotion as in the entranceway there stood Ty Hughes. He’d apparently taken this last restart to heart, his afro now braided into cornrows, his beard trimmed and neat, his blood covered blue jeans thrown out and replaced with black ones, held up by a belt sporting the “Fuckhead” logo for it’s buckle, and his black wrestling boots replaces with steel toed timberlands. Fashionable and functional.

He strode down to the ring as the crowd cheered his name, and the cheers rolled right off his back. Concentration was the only word that could be used to describe Hughes. His new journey had begun, and now his belief lay completely in fate, whatever happened was meant to happen… and in his heart he knew what was meant to happen tonight. Lucas was gonna be kicked to sleep.

“Ding ding” Hughes said to himself, as he ran to the cell, jumped onto the cell wall, propelling himself forwards in a flying sidekick, that took Lucas down to the mat hard. He stood back and waited for Lucas to get to his feet, who was feeling the pain of humiliation rather than from the kick. He grimaced at Hughes as the two stalked towards each other.

“London Welcome”

A straight kick between the legs, followed by a middle finger, and a right cross, sent Lucas to the mat once again. Hughes had gotten into Lucas’ head and played him easily, and rather than let Lucas go this time, Hughes laid stomps in to Lucas’ lower back. As Lucas clawed his way to the cell wall, he thrust a leg out, catching Hughes in the gut, sending him reeling backwards. Lucas rushed Hughes, and used the 5 inch height deficit to his advantage, as the extra leverage helped him execute a judo throw, leaving Hughes lying on his back wondering what the hell just happened.

He didn’t have to long to ponder however as Lucas started wrenching away at a brutal side headlock, that looked to be nearly tearing Hughes’ head off. The Hypnotic One shot out a succession of elbows, that eventually forced Lucas to relinquish the hold. The Londoner backed up, rubbing his neck as he did so, not sure what strategy to use against the unconventional style that Lucas brought. Then he stopped. Stopped thinking, and trusted his fate to whatever controlled it. Lucas charged in, and “Flicker”, a side kick to the gut, immediately followed by a flick side kick to the chin. Lucas stumbled backwards as Hughes instinctively hit the “1-2-3”, a right straight, left hook, right uppercut combination.

Lucas fell down to a seated position, as Hughes looked down at what he’d achieved. Domination over a fighter of Lucas’ level, by letting go of his inhibitions. He cleared his mind once again, and waited for Lucas to get to his feet.

This time fate wasn’t with Hughes.

Lucas thrusted a hard kick to Hughes’ knee, sending the leg out from underneath him, before a thunderous step through takedown, sent the back of Ty’s head crashing into the mat. His eyes glazed over as Lucas began raining a flurry of punches alternating between his face and ribs. Hughes’ broken rib had healed, but the mental scar was still there, making Hughes feel that much more worried about it, a sudden burst of adrenaline through Lucas off of him. The two fighters got to their feet, as Lucas took Hughes down once again with an overhead rolling throw, and as Hughes got back to his feet, he was kicked in the gut, and put in a front face lock choke. Lucas’ finisher.

Lucas threw kicks and knees, trying to get Hughes down to the mat, where the fight would be over, but Hughes just received the punishment and stayed standing before… “The Launch”, an overhead belly to belly suplex. Lucas would have held on to the face lock, had Hughes not kicked him in the balls, then thrown him spine first into the cell wall. Both men were down struggling to get up…

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6... Lucas was up…

7...

8... Hughes was up…

And as Lucas walked in…

Kicked to Sleep!!!

Pure instinct had taken over as Hughes had jumped hitting right high kick to Lucas’ temple, keeping the rotation going, and hit a spinning roundhouse kick with his left right on Lucas’ jaw. Just like that, momentum had switched in a very defiant manner.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10!

And just like that it was over.

Hughes stood there, his hand raised by the ref, and “4 Alarm Blaze” playing on the speakers. The “Rocky” music was more than symbolic to him. He’d taken beatings, but he would always come out the champion in the end… and Hughes had started his journey.

Scream....

RAAAAAAARRGGHHHH!

Huge mother fucking pop from the fans as Token entered through the curtains, his blue hair flying back behind him. He shrugged the cheers off with a determined walk to the ring, he picked up a microphone and looked out towards the crowd. Bandages covered his ribs and his upper arms. Stitches once more laced across his forhead. Token brought the microphone up and began to speak.

"Providence" Token said rubbing his throat, his voice was incredibly raspy. "Providence, I've came out here in this cage before and challenged you, everytime the challenge is laid before you, you have to get that little unfair edge." Token said, grasping at his throat and cringing for a moment.

"Then, when ever I'm in the cage just a 20 count from winning the Black Title. Who's the man who comes out and sticks a fucking cattle prod down my fucking throat? IT WAS YOU! Now, at Turmoil, you and I are going to tango. We're going to step into that fucking cage, and I'm going to rip you limb from fucking limb and leave you in pieces all over the damn cage...." Token paused.

"The carnage The Freak unleashed on DeThatt will look like nothing to what I'll do to you..."

"Stinkfist" by Tool kicked up as instantly the boo's could be heard echoing through out the arena as Providence entered, his long brown hair hung down to his shoulders, the slight part in the middle offered the idea of sophistication. His clothing was classic Providence; his fighting gear. Providence was passed a microphone and began.

"Weed, I've beaten you in the ca..." Providence didn't get a chance to finish, Weed had interrupted.

"Why don't you just shut the fuck up? Alright Darren, I'm tired of your fucking bullshit, just step the fuck up and fight me, nothing else to it, you gonna be a pussy or you gonna be a man?" Weed stated bluntly glaring up the aisle.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrup...." Providence was once more stopped, this time by a sprinting Token Weed charging up the ramp. Providence dropped the microphone as Weed clocked him with a solid right. The two exchanged punches until security pried the two apart.

"Come on Providence, you pussy. Turmoil, we do this!" Token shouted as Providence nodded in agreement. The two would settle this at Turmoil.

“You called me, right Joe? So what is it that you wanted?” Sebastian looked over and saw Aragon standing in the corner, with a smirk stapled to his lips that gave the impression he knew something that Sebastian didn’t. “What the fuck’s so funny?”

“Shut up, Sebastian,” Joe said as he continued to read over the note that sat in front of him, ever since Michael D. Alessandro and John C. Willis handed him the letter, he had read it no less than 25 times, checking for it’s validity.

“What? I mean, every fucken time I come in here, and your ass is standing and smiling, I’m fucken sick of it.” Sebastian folded his arms against his midsection and leaned back, “So what is it? You find me attractive? Is that it Dez? You want to fuck me? I’m sorry, but I’m not Villam…”

Dez’s hand began to shuffle through the inside pockets of his trench coat, but Joe’s hand slammed hard on his desk, disrupting the two. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Joe’s face shined a red that could only be found in the heart of a cold flame, he breathed hard as his eyes holding inferno’s stared deep into Sebastian’s own eyes. “You fucken twat! I’m tired of all your bullshit, want to know something? I fucken let your ass in here, and you were supposed to earn your stay, and what the fuck have you done?”

“Joe!” Sebastian’s face lit up, and his arms spread from his body, “I threw Villam out of the ring, I beat the champ! I should be the champ! What the hell do you mean, what did I do?”

“You beat Villam?” Joe looked over his shoulder at Dez, “Dez, did this fucker just say that he beat Villam.. HAHAHA!” The two began to belly laugh as they looked right in the face of Sebastian, the former Smilthy’s great got flustered and he started to get up.

“If you don’t believe it, I’ll go and prove it..” But as quick as Sebastian got up, he could feel the heat that was Dez’s pistol aimed right at the center of his spine, and then he heard Joe’s voice.

“You’re not going anywhere, you cunt. Sit the fuck down.” Joe’s voice calmed down and Sebastian turned and sat looking right into Dez’s gun, his brow furrowed as he was obviously frustrated with his situation.

“So what do you want from…” Sebastian was silenced as the letter was pushed towards him by Joe.

“So you and that fucken bastard go back further than we thought, huh? Funny innit that you don’t mention that to me.” Sebastian jumped back in his seat confused, as he snatched the paper off Joe’s desk, and read through it:

Sebastian, I am disappointed with what you have became. I have known you since you were little and you’ve always been a good boy but something about you has changed and it isn’t for the better.

You always struck me as someone who we could rely on. Someone who would stand up for what they believed in and never give up. As of late, that is what you have done and that is a major disappointment, especially for me personally Sebastian.

We know you’ve been through hard times but if you don’t let us in then we can’t help you. Nobody can help you and that’s all we want to do - help.

You’ve always been a lovely young man. Your arrogance, as I’ve said, could be your downfall in life but it suits you and we wouldn’t want you other way. By being brash, you inspire others and that’s why you’re so important to all of us. We love you and when you’re happy you make other people happy.

You’re not like that anymore though. You refuse to talk to us Sebastian. Not altogether but properly and that’s all we want. We’re on your side but we don’t feel like we can help you.

You can’t do this all on your own so please don’t try and do it on your own. We need each other Sebastian, now more than ever, and the sooner you realize that the better it will be for all of us. I’ll see you soon.

CARNAGE

Sebastian sat back in the chair and couldn’t stop laughing, his head leaned back over the chair and he shook his head as if the flow of laughter had taken over him. Joe’s eyes went over to Dez questionably, finally he slowed down his laughter and looked at Joe, while he was wiping the comical tears from his eyes. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“Joe, Carnage didn’t write that fucken letter. I mean look at the damned words in that shit, ‘disappointed’, ‘disappointment’, ‘arrogance’, ‘Sebastian’. You think that fuck can spell that shit?! To tell you the truth, I doubt he could spell ‘ABC’ right and that’s even if you gave him the first three letters. Don’t you know those black people Joe? They don’t know shit, from shit, that’s why they’re all busy smoking the crack.” Slowly the wheels began to churn in Sebastian’s head.. “Hold up, who gave you this?”

“You don’t need to know Sebastian..”

“No Joe, I need to fucken know, who the hell gave you this letter?!” The laughter was completely gone as Sebastian gazed right into the cold eyes that belonged to Campbell, and he read him like a Dr. Seuss book, “Those bastards.. They broke into my house didn’t they? And you let them do it, Joe?

“You know what Joe, right about now, I don’t care if you think I’m in cahoots with Carnage or not.. I don’t give a fuck, because eventually you’ll know..” Sebastian pounded his chest as he stood up. “You’ll know I was right, and eventually you’ll know when you look at all the people around here, that *I’M* the only one who has your back. But things can always change Campbell, remember.. I saved your life all those years ago, ME, not Dez, not the Freak, not Cheno.. *ME*, and when you finally realize that, maybe then I’ll get the respect I deserve from you.” Sebastian sighed knowing what he said had no effect on Campbell, “Now can I go, I’ve got things to do.”

Joe waved for him to go, and Joe looked back over his shoulder at Dez, and that moment he could read his mind, both men knew they could read Sebastian, and they knew that he was in with Carnage. The real question that was raised, was, why did they let either of them hang around?

The fans erupted into a streaming frenzy of hatred for the now-most-hated man to grace the Asylum cage. The steel circle of pain had a new daddy kingpin when it came to being a nasty motherfucker, and he wore red, and had a really shit hairstyle. The whole stadium became a giant plethora of hate squared and boxed up, into such a small building by the standards of the noise it was creating. Trash, garbage... beer cans, toilet rolls, all cascaded towards the rampway in a torrential downpour of viscous loathing. The jeers, the screams, all came pouring in.

The lights dimmed to black, and the sound punctured holes in the pressing darkness... before a single red light shone, cutting through the black in crimson.

The echo of the bell ringing through 40,000 ears... then, "Replica". Machine gun guitars rocketed through the arena like liquid lightening and shook the cage, heavy pounding drums...

"THERE - IS - NO - LOOOOOOOOVE!!"

Like a fluctuating vibration of strings pressed against a loudspeaker. And then, as the fans reached a deadly apex in hatred, the curtains were pulled back and the hollow click of steel-nailed boots licking the steel rampway graced the noisy environment like a pin dropping at a rock concert. The Freak's burning red eyes scanned the hateful fans, his face blank and devoid of emotion. Over his shoulder was his sword sheath, and his modified trenchcoat hung at his sides, a red basilisk curling around the left arm of the clothing article.

"There was no love... there was no love for me..."

He walked, slowly, purposefully down the ramp as the trash bombarded him. His Black Title, tattered, bloodied and worn, was strapped around his waist and the strange, haunting black drama mask logo was stitched upon his costume for an unknown reason. Oddball wasn't present with him tonight...

"There... was only, HAT-REEED!"

The red 1s and 0s that were draped like a digital blanket over the scenes of murder and death dancing on the Asylumtron began to fade into blood, as the Red Ripper himself clambered up the ringsteps like a bruised, old warrior. Which is effectively, what he was. These fans hadn't realized yet, however, that The Freak would be their only hope and holding the Asylum title at Turmoil.

"I... am RAPE. I... am HATE. I... am RAPE. I... am HATE...!"

The music died down, and The Freak was left alone with the now lit faces of the screaming and desperately booing fans. They all appeared to him as a festering flock of angry sheep, but nontheless he was still unfazed by their token reaction.

"Hello America."

BOOOOOOOO!!

He had expected that. In fact, if the fans HADN'T have booed him, he probably would have flipped out and ran away. He turned to the fans and tilted his head to one side, his tousled red hair matted and tufted. Light glinted from the cross that hung around his neck almost mockingly... that he'd wear the insignia of a god that they loved.

They made him sick.

"Snakes... you see that I have one emblazoned upon my sleeve, in the form of the basilisk. Snakes are one of the few animals that lack any form of legs, they slither upon their bellies in search of grounded prey. They are well equpiied for their task... what they lack, in legs, they make up for in fangs... and poison. Snakes inject their prey with a vicious poison that slowly renders them immobile.

"Kellen Kinkade... is often referred to as a snake. His own theme music mentions the snake and it's significance to the man, and he prides himself on being similar in approach. The snake will writhe in the grass... in search of someone, something weak enough to fall to it's fanged doom. Kellen Kinkade has slithered into the fWo, and has begun to sink his teeth into it in preperation for the inevitable poisoning.

"The fWo... was low enough for the grounded, legless animal to kill. But when a snake is opposed to a bird... it cannot strike, for it's vertical limit, the fact that it cannot rise to the challenge will always hinder it. The winged bird... can float high above the snake, and the poison can never be injected."

The Freak paused and lowered his microphone slightly, and the fans began to boo - mostly because they hadn't a fucking clue what he was rambling about. A few cola cans clattered against the canvas at Fenn-Grail's feet, and he looked down at them almost reprimandingly.

"You see, Kinkade... that bird, that lingers in the skies above your head, circling incessantly and squawking of your defeat... that bird which will end your life as a lowly, nonpedal reptile, that winged creature is me. Joe Campbell chose to call you out to face me not as a punishment to me... it was a reward.

"Because the Immortal Title, may as well be mine. The bird will always beat the snake, the vulture will always defeat the reptile. And like a magpie, I swooped down and took away from you what you deemed crucial to your life; something that you cannot possibly live without. From you I took your meal ticket, the reason you entered the fWo. The Immortal Title."

The fans began to cheer somewhat, as whilst they despised The Freak they absolutely reviled the fact that Kinkade, a man of no relation to the Asylum, would hold their prized possession; the Immortal Title. The Bulldozer seemed amused by the fans's fickle nature, and smiled wryly.

"The poison of a snake sears through veins and slowly brings down the victim, breaking them down... destroying them from the inside-out. But the fire of the basilisk... burns the enemy where they stand. You are my enemy, Kinkade, and I will do... anything in my power... to make sure that the Immortal Title is mine.

"For me.

"For Joe Campbell...

"For the Asylum. And Kinkade, I know that you've been trying to smash your way into the building all night but unfortunately I fear that our security are far too immense for yourself... how about we save the encounter, the battle... the war until Turmoil, perchance? Your weapons had better be loaded..." The Freak stopped and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Because mine certainly is."

For a second The Freak looked as if he was going to draw the weapon, but instead he simply released the hilt of it and allowed it to remain sheathed. The fans were still perplexed as to what the strange French writing, Réveur Sanglant, meant... and what the sword's 'special abilities' were. But their confusion was held back for now... and instead substituted with a mixture of boos and cheers for the Red Ripper, who would oppose the Jersey Devil at Turmoil.

"So... Kinkade... heed my advice. Live, die... eat. What... you kill."

The Freak handed his microphone back to stand-in Asylum ring announcer Deacon Show, and dropped his trenchcoat from his shoulders delicately, whipping it to the outside and placing his scabbard/sheath to the side of the cage. The fans began to talk amongst themselves as the ring announcer lifted the Black Title into the air above his head, declaring that a title bout was about to start...

The Freak© Vs Tommy Gunn
(Black Title)

The fans waited in baited breath as the lights dimmed down, and a twirling blue and white techno beam sparkled on the cieling... the coloured lights moulding together to form a giant picture of a Scottish Flag on the rafters. The fans that recognized this logo - which wasn't many, as face it, yanks are pretty fuckin' isolated - instantly belted out cheers of encouragement for their fighter - a man that could dethrone The Freak of his title where he stood.

The giant Scottish Flag spun around gloriously, before being beamed down onto the canvas of the cage. The speakers began to blast out screeching, grating guitar chords that shook the nerves of every man, woman and child in attendance. Thudding, heavy drums took their place behind a wall of electrified string noise...

"Davidian".

The fans were on their feet, as the pouding Heavy Metal blasted through the rafters and echoed in the stands, sending a chill down the fans's spines like an electric thrill. The powerful strums of Machine Head's guitarist hammered into their hearts...

Blind man ask me forgiveness
I won't deny myself
Disrespect you have given
Your suffering's my wealth
I feed off pain, force fed to love it

The curtains parted, and the fans blew the roof off. Endless cheers for a man that had, unfortunately, been felled by Carnage last week... he had shown great effort in attempting to rid Carnage of his TV Title but he had failed. But now he was back, and it was time for a crack at another titrle - one that suited him perfectly. One that was the epitome of what he is, bad to the bone and then some. This man's BONE MARROW could kick your fucking ass.

Tommy Gunn.

Tommy stormed out of the entranceway, his arms firing out and retracting, his powerful muscles concealed by a tight hooded sweatshirt. His Scottish Flag shorts shone from underneath the black material of his "We Have Come For Your Parents" sweatshirt, and the hood was yanked back over his shaven blonde hair. The heavy thunder of his footsteps as he thudded down the ramp was enough alone to bring the fans out in cheers.

"LET FREEDOM RING ~ WITH THE SHOT-GUN ~ BLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!"

His black boots wailed on the metal ring steps as he stormed up and into the cage, still thudding his fists together and working out like a boxer would. He was 280 lbs of solid, unadulterated muscle slammed onto a 6'1" frame, and he was ready to tear The Freak limb from limb. Whilst both men were aligned with Campbell, they were still fighters - and fight, they would.

Tommy ripped his sweatshirt open to mountainous cheers, and threw it to the ground... his massive muscles glistening a Scottish pale white in the spotlights. The Freak looked less than impressed, and began to circle the edge of the cage slowly as the blasting music died down and the Scottish Flag cast upon the cage dispersed. The ring announcer finished his duties and slipped over the rim of the cage, scurrying away...

"The challenge has been met by another peon, I see. You... you were once a legend in the Asylum, were you not? A man that faced the abysmal Graphic Violence, a man lacking any talent... and failed? How appalling that you should serve your mentor, Campbell, so badly. Come, dog, let us see what skills you possess..."

Tommy grunted sternly, his voice dense with gravel as he spoke, stepping forwards and getting nose-to-nose with Grail as he did so. "Skills? Ye dunnae need skills tae fight, lad... what ye need, is this."

CRACK!!

Tommy's forehead than rocketed forwards and drilled The Freak's nose viciously, cracking it to one side with a ferocious Glasgow Kiss that sent the fans into orbit with pleasure. A thin line of blood graced the air from Freak's nose as he stumbled backwards, his boots unsteady and uneven on the canvas. He regained his balance, and keeled over slightly, holding his nose in his taped palm.

He opened his hand, and looked down into the pool of blood he'd created with a cold sneer, before glancing back up at Tommy.

"No, son... you're mistaken. You do it..."

The Freak walked up to Tommy, as cool as a cucumber, and looked down on him with cold, yet burning red eyes rolling down in his sunken eye sockets.

"Like this..."

CRACK!!

And then he grabbed one of Tommy's ears, and returned the favour - with a collosal headbutt that rocked Tommy's skull backwards and torqued his neck upon impact. The Freak reached out with his other hand and quickly grabbed the alternate ear too, holding onto Gunn by both of his lugs and repeating the headbutt...

Once!

Booooooo...

Twice!

Booooooooooo...

Three times!

Boooooooooooooo...

Tommy's nose was already bleeding just as profusely as that of the Emasculator's at this point, and he was forced keel over as The Freak placed Tommy's skull tightly under his armpit, via a front facelock. With a mutter of "Silly puppet", Freak then slammed his knee, BRUTALLY into Gunn's ribcage, rattling them around inside his chest and almost stopping his heart with sheer ferocity. He carried on, smashing the hard kneecap into Tommy's chest five times... then...

Thud

Driving his skull into the mat with a sickening DDT at an odd angle, wrenching on the already awkward neck of Gunn. The Freak decided that rather than release the front facelock he used to execute the DDT, he'd instead roll his body into position and lock his legs around Gunn's body... scissoring him, paralyzing him as his neck and throat were locked tightly in The Freak's grasp.

Guillotine Choke.

Tommy gasped for air as his face was ground into the canvas, his neck totally wedged in The Freak's powerful arm. The referee, Jimmy Shawdale, dropped to the canvas and asked Gunn if he wished to quit but the Glasgow Git replied with a screaming "FUCK THAT". He slammed a fist into Freak's kidneys, eliiting a grunt of disdain from the Ripper... and another... and The Freak's grip began to slacken. Gunn powered himself upwards, driving another fist into Freak's stomach...

"Not so fast..."

As Gunn finally got out of the painful menouvere, he staggered backwards and slipped and took mouthfuls of oxygen in to help replenish his shortage of breath... but The Freak was ready to take advantage, kipping up behind Tommy and turning around, swinging his leg towards Gunn's head for a roundhouse kick...

Gunn ducked.

The Freak spun back around quickly to try and get back into the fight, his heels slicked with the blood of his own nose as he twirled... straight into a Tommy Gunn lariat~!!

...

Which The Freak ducked under, spinning around as he nipped under Tommy's arm and twirled again, his mighty leg being hauled into the air and swung towards Gunn in a killing arc - that fortunately for the fans... didn't connect. As soon as The Freak's foot tapped against the canvas, his alternate foot was thrown forwards instead in a sweeping motion for Tommy's face...

Which was caught by Tom's powerful hand.

"Dunnae try any fancy shit with me lad, Ah've seen it all befo'er," Tommy snorted, as he gripped onto The Freak's boot... The Freak tried to transform his nasty predicament into a reverse enziguri but found himself hanging upside-down as Tommy caught that leg also. His great, massive muscles flexing, he powered The Freak into the air and onto hios shoulders...

The Gunn Rack.

All two hundred and sixty pounds of The Freak were yanked apart atop Tommy's broad shoulders, as he tore at The Freak's face and leg with his modified Torture Rack. The Emasculator was in obvious pain, and the fans... were in ecstasy.

"TOMM-EE!!"
"TOMM-EE!!"
"TOMM-EE!!"
"TOMM-EE!!"
"TOMM-EE!!"
"TOMM-EE!!"

Gunn walked around the cage uneasily, The Freak being racked to fuck on his shoulders... this was the finisher of Tommy's older brother, who died for the Scottish fighter in a car accident. Tommy was using his brother's move, to dismantle the Emasculator from the outside-in, and as perverse as it was to do so... Tommy was still loving every minute of it.

"D'YE QUIT!?" Tommy bellowed, as The Freak hissed in pain in the air...

"No submissions in Black Title matches, Tommy..." Jimmy the Generic Referee said, pushing his spectacles back up to his brow as Tommy's face grew crinkled with burning rage. With a pissed off grunt, he stomped over to the side of the cage... until The Freak's head was hovering over the rim.

"No submissions, aye?" Gunn spat, as he flicked his arm up into the air and twisted his back around, swinging The Freak outwards like a rag doll, shifting him around in the air...

THWA~ CRACK!!

And dropping him, head-first onto the rim of the cage, snapping his forehead against the cold, unforgiving steel. The Freak toppled to the outside, his back slapping against the concrete as Tommy dropped to a seated position in the cage. The Emasculator was long gone... blood splattered and lined his forehead as he lay in a heap amongst the cheers of the fans, egging on Gunn. The referee looked at The Freak's cripples lump on the outside, and began to count with his jaw hanging open.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

10!

...Tommy started celebrating.

11!

Then he stopped.

12!

He obviously hadn't done much research on the Black Title, had he?

13!

...And on the outside, his head practically split in half, The Freak got back to his feet by leaning upon the railings. One of the nearby fans decided to take a postshot, smacking The Freak upside the head with a bag of pretzels... and his wife joined in, handbag style. Fuck knows what was inside that handbag, but it was most probably a brick as The Freak's head snapped back and he staggered towards the cage groggily...

He didn't see Tommy Gunn coming down the ringsteps, and unfortunately, this - in turn - meant he didn't see Tommy flying through the air towards him with a flying clothesline from the top step!

THWACK~!

The Emasculator was turned inside-out with the vicious flying lariat, and the fans were once more on their feet for Tommy Gunn - who was totally destroying his red-haired opponent in this catastrophic battle. The Freak tried to push himself up from the ring mats, but it was futile... Tommy took the oppurtunity to reach under the apron and procure a steel, folding chair.

Wishing to capitalize on The Freak’s predicament, Gunn grabbed The Freak’s leg... which he'd unfortunately landed on in his fall, and laid it against the apron. The Freak looked up at Gunn with almost pleading eyes, as Gunn lifted the chair... Tommy hesitated, looking at The Freak as if wondering whether enough was enough.

Then The Freak spat in his eye.

"ACK, ye fuckin' PIG..."

And all was decided.

CRACK

"ARGH!!"

CRACK

"ARGH!!"

CRACK

"ARGH!!"

After the third shot, Tommy grabbed The Freak's leg and dropped down beside him...wrapping his arms around The Freak’s leg, applying pressure with a Kneebar-type-move, slowly contorting the joint to extreme levels. He didn’t have much luck in extracting a submission however, as The Freak simply used his other leg to kick Gunn in the back of the head, thus forcing him to release the hold. Gunn scrambled to his feet and The Freak kipped up in his usual fashion...

"You're not doing your best, Thomas. Show me what you've really got..."

Gunn once again targeted the leg, this time with a chop block… which, unfortunately, failed miserably as The Freak shot his knee outwards and caught Tommy in the face. Gunn got to his feet looking to avenge his now-crooked nose, but for his efforts got nothing more than a straight left-legged sidekick to his chin, causing the Scottish Bastard to fly backwards and slam against the apron. The Freak took advantage of Gunn's predicament straight away... and with a heart laugh, hitting two solid punches to the solar plexus and a third to the face, in uppercut form.

The Freak could possibly have capitalized on Tommy's unfortunate quandary and followed up, but his major mistake was in not doing so and instead seeking to retrieve a chair from Oddball, thus giving Gunn time to recuperate. The Freak turned around and swung the chair at where he thought Tommy was, but hit nothing but air.

He’s behiiiiind yooooou!

Yeah... say hi to Punch and Judy 2K3.

The Freak turned, Tommy clotheslined the chair into his face.

The fans: "RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!"

Tommy picked up The Freak's now-dropped chair...

SMACK!

The steel was caved in over The Freak’s head.

SMACK!

A second powerful blow, and a second sickening crack from the sound of steel-on-bone. Gunn then dropped the chair to the concrete, and kicked The Freak in his nether regions…

THWACK!!

And spiked The Freak, head-first onto the twisted steel with an enviable DDT.

Tommy kipped to his feet, and threw both arms in the air - managing to start a "TOM-EE!!" chant in the process. The Freak rolled around, desperate to try and regain his bearings which seemed to have scuttled off to malta to meet the Abela-Wadges. To the fans, he looked like shit. To Tommy, he looked even worse... The Freak was in a very, very bad way and had little chance of getting up.

As far as anyone knew, that is... except The Freak himself. As soon as Tommy turned around, The Freak laughed in a sly manner to himself. Tommy overheard- like he was supposed to. When Gunn turned around... he was greeted by...

THWACK~!

Reverse Hurricane Kick. And as The Freak landed, he brought his hands forward - his hands that were gripping a steel, black chair. All Tommy saw was a flash of deadly metallic black.

CRACK!!

And as the chair connected... The Freak dropped it, and picked up his title belt - which the referee had thrown to the outside. Tommy turned around with blood streaming down his face from the brutal chair shot, which in turn, set him up for a blistering smack, upside his skull, from the title belt.

It set him up for it.

But, Tommy caught the belt in one hand and snatched it away from The Freak... before clobbering the Ripper with it himself!

The referee started to count...

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

10!

11!

12!

13!

14!

Tommy looked at the title belt in his hands, covered and swathed in blood and gore, tattered leather... and became almost hypnotized by it. Devils danced in the corners of his eyes... something was wrong, terribly wrong. His blue eyes lapsed in and out of concentration... his head nodding an some kind of agreement with an ethreal entity. What was going on?

The Freak was already up by this time... and a single kick saw him asunder, The Freak whipped his leg high into the air and across Tommy's neck, snapping it to one side. Tommy collapsed onto his back, his eyes dilated and the title gripped in his palms close to his chest.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

10!

11!

12!

13!

14!

15!

16!

17!

18!

19!

and 20.

The fans gasped in shock that for some reason, Tommy wasn't getting up... he lay in an almost catatonic state, as "Replica" began to play to announce The Freak's victory.

As The Freak rose to his feet he was greeted with the sight of an individual clapping in an elaborate and sarcastic manor on the video wall... a man who shouldn't have been able to get access to Asylum video equipment or indeed the venue itself.

"Very impressive." Kellen Kinkade spoke out, as the Freak narrowed his eyes "Such a shame you paid testament to security earlier on because quite frankly I bought my way in here with a couple of doghnuts and a porno mag."

The Freak took a few steps forth but was quickly stopped in his tracks.

"Wait up genius, you don't even know where I am and by the time you've found me I'll already have done what I intend to. Now, I'm going to ask you politely as to avoid any further conflict tonight, where's my belt?"

Kinkade folded his arms as the Freak shook his head.

"I don't know." The Freak replied with a wry smile.

Kinkade shook his head and sighed.

"You know Freak is an interesting name but I'm beginning to think that retard would be a better suit, you're also a very poor judge of character... I listened in on that whole poetic speech about snakes and vultures earlier on and for the most part you were right.

For the most part.

You see I'm not the kind of snake that strikes with a deadly venom... I'm the kind of snake that waits patiently for the vulture to land, before wrapping myself around and suffocating the life out it." Kinkade said with a sinister smirk.

"Continue to elaborate." The Freak replied.

"I'm glad you asked but I was going to anyway." Kinkade shot back "You see suffocation is a far more convenient means of attack, it's more controlled... if I bite you you have time to claw me to pieces but once you're trapped you have nothing to do but die slowly and conform to me, I control you."

The Freak narrowed his eyes, there was something more to what Kinkade was saying.

"Of course right now you're still flying high... but there's a problem, the snake has found your pretty little nest and has a grip on one of your own."

And then Kinkade stepped forth and turned the camera, to reveal Freak's companion the Oddball... bound to a pillar by two ropes, one around his neck and the other around his feet.

"So now the question is what do you do? You can stay up there in the air where it's safe or you can sly back down here and fight for your friend at the risk of losing your own life. So enough of this metaphorical speaking...

...where is my belt?" Kinkade snarled through clenched teeth.

"Leave him out of this Kinkade, he's not involved." The Freak replied.

"Oh he's involved alright... he was involved the second you turned up at my workplace earlier on and stole something from me." Kinkade answered.

"Don't tell him anyth-" SMACK.

Before Oddball could finish his cry Kinkade smacked him across the face.

"Now you know I mean business shit for brains, tell me where the belt is or we're going to do a trade... you like to take things and I like to break things, if I don't find out where that belt is in the next ten seconds this little punk can say goodbye to the mobility in his right arm.

Kinkade moved oved to Oddball and took his arm under ond shoulder, placing one hand above the elbow and another at the point of the wrist, locking it in place.

"Listen..." The Freak began.

"Tick tock." Kinkade promptly replied.

"You are in no position to barter Kinkade... I have the Imm..."

SNAP.

The screams of Oddball haunted the attending crowd as Kinkade snapped his arm at the elbow with a short, sharp and effective wrench. The horrific sight turned many in the crowd as white as a sheet and even made The Freak flinch.

"I'm through playing fucking games with you!" Kinkade screamed maniacally "Now tell me or his other fucking arm can say goodbye... and then I move onto the legs!"

Kinkade took a firm grip on Oddball's other arm as The Freak finally gave way.

"No more..." The Freak spoke out "I buried it."

Kinkade smiled... relaxing his grip before posing the question "Where?"

"In the graveyard that we passed a little while back, the dirt might still be disturbed if you hurry... I believe that rain is on the way."

Kinkade didn't need to hear anymore, he released his grip on Oddball's arm and quickly made a rush out of the room... as The Freak hurried up the aisle and to the backstage in search of his injured friend.

It was a night where the Asylum had tried to teach Kinkade a lesson in violence, but perhaps they had ultimately learned more than the could have bargained for.